CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I FIND WYVERNMIRE’S OFFICE BY returning to the hallway with the giant egg statue. It feels like years since I was racing Atlas down to the bottom in heels. I slip through the door behind the egg and into a short, narrow corridor. There’s another door at the end. Is this where Atlas comes to spy on the Prime Minister? I gather myself, feeling the tears dry on my face. I meant what I said to Marquis – it’s time to be realistic. It’s time to give Wyvernmire the code.
I knock.
‘Yes?’
The room is large and brightly lit. A fire is burning in the grate and Wyvernmire’s briefcase sits neatly on an armchair in front of it. On the coffee table is a chessboard, each piece a different species of dragon carved from marble. The woman herself is sitting behind a wide desk, a soft expression of surprise on her face.
‘Vivien,’ she says smoothly. ‘How lovely to see you.’
I clear my throat. ‘Good afternoon, Prime Minister. How was your . . . flight?’
‘Rather tumultuous with all this wind,’ she says, her mouth turning up into a lipsticked smile.
You should try riding a dragon in it .
Wyvernmire looks back down to the paper she’s reading and adds a note with her pen. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure, Vivien?’
I take a step forward.
Careful , a voice inside my head says.
I stop.
Don’t lay all your cards on the table straight away.
Dad’s voice.
‘I came to inform you of my progress,’ I say. ‘In the glasshouse.’
The Prime Minister drops her pen and looks up.
‘Come and sit down,’ she says immediately, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the desk. ‘What have you discovered?’
I sit down on the hard chair and run a finger across the claw-shaped arms. I feel her gaze on me, expectant.
‘Why do you call it a dragon code?’ I ask. ‘When you know that it’s a language? That’s why you recruited me, a polyglot, isn’t it? To learn the language?’
She smiles. ‘What a wise question. We weren’t sure what it was to begin with. And echolocation certainly doesn’t behave like any languages we know.’
‘But you’ve known for a while that it is a language,’ I insist. ‘Because Dr Hollingsworth told you so. That’s why you sent her to my house to recruit me, and not Dolores Seymour.’
Wyvernmire raises an eyebrow.
‘Only someone fluent in a language is qualified to vouch for another person’s fluency,’ I say. ‘Just because someone can attempt some convincing Wyrmerian sentences doesn’t mean they have the correct accent, the understanding of the nuances and implications linked to the culture of that language. There was no way Dolores Seymour could have judged my mastery of dragon tongues when she doesn’t speak any herself.’
Does Wyvernmire know that Hollingsworth sent me my mother’s work?
‘The Bulgarians referred to it as a code, so that is how it became known,’ Wyvernmire says.
‘The Bulgarians?’ I say.
I’m not going to let her know that Dr Seymour told me about the Bulgarian humans’ study of echolocation, the one that got them all murdered. My guess is that she was never supposed to reveal that particular knowledge to her recruits.
‘I’m afraid it was their great progress in learning echolocation that drove their fellow countrydragons to massacre them,’ Wyvernmire says. She watches me closely and I try to feign surprise. ‘Hence why we are so very careful about keeping your work in the glasshouse a secret.’
‘But you know echolocation is a language that comes as naturally to the dragons as breathing. So why do you still call it a code? Is it to make it sound more dangerous?’
‘It might as well be a code, seeing how far we are from understanding it,’ Wyvernmire says coldly, her peaceful demeanour suddenly gone. ‘Now, are you here to tell me that might have changed?’
‘I’m starting to understand its … variations,’ I say. ‘But it’s going to take longer to learn than we thought. It’s not just learning one language. It’s more like learning several.’
‘There are several echolocation languages?’ Wyvernmire says.
‘I believe so, yes.’
‘And how different are they from each other?’ She sits back in her chair, her forehead suddenly creased.
I pause. If I tell her, then there’s no going back.
‘Well?’ she says. ‘Are they as different as French and Dutch?’
‘No,’ I say quickly. ‘They’re similar. They all stem from one universal language, like …’
‘Yes?’
‘Like dialects.’
Wyvernmire stands up and begins pacing the floor.
‘Hollingsworth, Seymour, they must have known this—’
‘No!’ I say. ‘They didn’t. I only discovered it because my mother was studying dragon dialects related to spoken tongues, and I realised echolocation could work similarly.’
‘We don’t have time to learn several echolocation dialects.’
‘Prime Minister,’ I say, ‘you have the entire Academy of Draconic Linguistics at your disposal. If you recruit some of its linguists, I’m sure they’ll decipher the dialects in no time.’
Wyvernmire shakes her head. Two bright red splotches have appeared on the soft skin of her neck.
‘Three months was never going to be enough,’ I say. ‘But five years could be—’
‘Five years?’ Wyvernmire spins round to face me, her expression dark with fury. ‘We barely have five days.’
Five days?
‘The situation has become urgent,’ Wyvernmire says. ‘An increasing number of Queen Ignacia’s dragons are abandoning her to join the rebellion. I have already made contact with Borislav.’
‘Borislav? The Bulgarian dragon I translated for?’
‘Any good leader has a contingency plan, Vivien. And when the last team failed to crack the code, or indeed provide me with any progress to build up our defence and win the war I knew was coming, I decided that depending entirely on human effort was unwise.’
I listen to the quiet ticking of the clock, trying to remember anything from that conversation with the dragon.
Tell Wyvernmire that the dragons of Bulgaria agree.
My breath catches in my throat. I shake my head, hardly believing what I’m hearing.
‘You’ve allied with Bulgaria,’ I say slowly. ‘You’re going to betray Queen Ignacia, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Wyvernmire says without hesitation. ‘Unless one of you recruits can translate echolocation, build me a squadron fit for fighting dragons or find a way to breed the blighters themselves, I will be forced to confirm my alliance with Bulgaria in five days’ time.’ She sighs. ‘It wasn’t my preferred plan of action, but you have left me no choice—’
‘You’re going to get us all killed!’ I shout, jumping up from my chair. ‘Queen Ignacia will want revenge – she’ll take out the whole country! It will be worse than this war and the one before it.’
‘Not with the Bulgarian dragons on our side,’ Wyvernmire says.
I remember it, then. That turquoise line of ink across Dad’s globe, the one linking Britannia to Bulgaria, marked with Wyvernmire’s crest. My parents knew all along.
I stare at Wyvernmire.
How did I ever admire this woman?
‘On your side?’ I say. ‘The Bulgarian dragons have no respect for humans – as soon as you’ve given them what they want, they’ll eradicate the British people, just like they did in Bulgaria.’
‘You’re wrong,’ Wyvernmire replies. ‘Bulgaria was always a threat, of course, even before the Massacre. Simply due to the sheer size of its Bolgorith dragons. That is why Britannia always sought to have the upper hand, to be well versed in Bulgaria’s dragon tongues, to have ambassadors of both species on its soil. And, in the end, we made sure those dragons were in our debt.’
‘You mean they’re only willing to help you because they owe you a favour?’ I splutter. ‘All this time, you’ve been waiting for the Peace Agreement to be broken, haven’t you? Your agreement with Queen Ignacia was only temporary, to help you fight the rebels until the bigger, better Bulgarian dragons came along.’
My head spins with the madness of it all.
‘You must have promised them something,’ I say. ‘Bulgarian dragons don’t give a damn about debt. What could you possibly have promised them to make them ally with you?’
‘I’m a politician with over twenty years’ experience negotiating with dragons. You leave that side of the business to me. Please compose yourself, and tell me how many of these dialects you can speak so far. What do you need in order to help you learn faster? Name it, and you shall have it.’
I laugh. ‘Of course you’re dependent on a criminal teenager, because no one at the Academy will help you, will they? They all know, of course, all those experts in dragon tongues, about echolocation. And none of them will touch it with a bargepole, not even Hollingsworth herself, because they know what happened when the Bulgarian humans did. So am I really the only polyglot you’ve got?’
I see a flicker of fear in the Prime Minister’s eyes.
‘My mother ran for her life when the Bulgarian dragons torched her village,’ I say. ‘She watched her mother and her uncle and her cousins be eaten. It was a miracle she made it out of Bulgaria alive. They’ll do the same to your people, rebels and loyalists alike. But you don’t care about them, do you?’ I collapse back into my chair and glare at her. ‘You haven’t even said Dodie’s name.’
‘Dodie’s story is tragic, I’ll agree with you there. But she broke her end of the deal by trying to escape. My Guardians did what was necessary.’
‘Killing a defenceless girl is never necessary.’
‘Oh, Vivien,’ says Wyvernmire with a sigh. ‘You are trying to be honourable. I admire that, truly I do. But the truth is you’re like me. You do what’s best for you .’
I shake my head. ‘The only reason I’m here is to save my family. I don’t care what happens to me any more.’
‘Oh, but you do,’ Wyvernmire says softly. ‘Of course you want to save your family. But you also want to be the girl who cracks the dragon code.’ She lets out a throaty laugh. ‘Doing what is necessary to achieve your ambitions is not an unknown concept to you, is it?’
My face begins to burn as a knowing smile creeps across Wyvernmire’s face.
‘You’ve done it once before, with your friend Sophie.’
My throat tightens.
‘Oh yes, I know all about that.’ She speaks slowly, her eyes locked on mine. ‘I got my information from that teacher who was so desperate for a place for her daughter at the University of London. Tell me, Vivien. Can you still replicate Sophie’s handwriting?’
The room spins round me and I feel my entire soul burn with shame.
‘If you hadn’t done what you did, Sophie would be studying at the University of London with you, instead of that teacher’s daughter.’
I blink away the threat of more tears. I know more than Wyvernmire does how a split-second decision can alter a life forever. How, somehow, it’s always those we love most that we end up hurting.
‘It’s okay,’ Wyvernmire says soothingly. ‘You did what you needed to do. To get a place at university. To work in Dragon Tongues. To guarantee yourself a high-paying job before the census of your graduation year.’ The Prime Minister’s voice is sweet now, almost maternal. ‘And look at you now. What will you do once you’ve cracked the dragon code? You could take a job at the Academy for Draconic Linguistics, of course, the youngest person ever to do so. But why stop there? Why not build a bigger, better loquisonus machine than Dr Seymour could even begin to envision? Why not spend a lifetime reading dragons’ minds?’
Wyvernmire leans forward. ‘You are like me, Vivien. You are like the Dragon Queen. Ruthlessly ambitious.’
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
‘But I don’t want to be,’ I croak.
‘You don’t have a choice. This is who you are,’ Wyvernmire says. ‘So own it.’
The light catches the talon-shaped brooch on the Prime Minister’s chest. Has she really stood face to face with Queen Ignacia? If she has, then she must know that the trinket she wears is a poor imitation of the talons of a Western Drake.
‘Is it true that you feed criminal children to the dragons?’ I say. ‘Is that what you’ve promised the Bulgarian dragons? People to eat?’
‘Politics always requires a forfeit of some sort,’ Wyvernmire says quietly. ‘And criminals choose to be criminals, do they not? Therefore they must accept the consequences of their actions.’
The familiar words drive my brain into dizziness.
‘You’re everything the rebels say you are,’ I spit. ‘All you see is what people can or cannot do , instead of who they are .’
‘And what of you, Vivien Featherswallow? Teacher’s pet, star pupil, always simpering and desperate to please. Your whole life has been built on what you can do. So much so that you have no idea who you are.’
I reel backwards as if I’ve been slapped and Wyvernmire’s mouth twists into a tight-lipped smile.
‘Now tell me about the dialects.’
I stand up and take a step backwards. The only dialect I can grasp some meaning of so far is the one used by Rhydderch and Muirgen.
‘I don’t understand any of them yet,’ I lie. ‘I need more time. If you could just give us all some more time—’
‘Five days,’ Wyvernmire interjects. She picks up her pen and turns her eyes back to her paper, suddenly bored of me. ‘That’s all I can give you. In the meantime, I must make a short trip to London. One dialect is all I’ll ask of you. Give me one, and you’ll have won your category.’
‘And what about the other recruits?’ I say. ‘If I give you a dialect, will you pardon them, too?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snaps. ‘The rules apply to all. Besides, any progress they make will only be a bonus now. It is the echolocation I need. Only echolocation might make me reconsider this alliance. So don’t leave it too long, Vivien.’ I watch as she begins to write in purple ink. ‘Bulgaria is only a short flight away.’
*
Christmas Eve creeps into the common room by way of a wonky tree, begrudgingly set up by one of the staff. I sink into an armchair, my head throbbing from another day learning Rhydderch and Muirgen’s dialect. The house is quiet, and I wonder how many of the Guardians have been allowed to return home to spend Christmas with their families.
Music is playing on the radio and the fire is piled high with logs, throwing off heat. Outside, snow is falling. Marquis is engrossed in a game of chess with Katherine, his sketchbook sticking out of his pocket. Everyone else is watching, or reading or talking quietly. Nobody is in a festive mood and Dodie’s absence fills the room. All I can think of is how there are now only three days left until the Bulgarian dragons get here, unless I tell Wyvernmire everything I know.
Atlas slides on to the sofa beside me. His notes have become more frequent since he was released from isolation the night of my meeting with Wyvernmire. Scraps of paper have appeared in between the pages of my library books, in the pocket of my jacket and even beneath my dinner plate. I find myself answering them with embarrassing enthusiasm, hesitating for hours over each word.
‘What do you usually do for Christmas with your family?’ Atlas asks me, reaching over to pull a pine needle from my hair.
I feel a twinge in my chest. Ursa will be spending Christmas with strangers. Will they even buy her a gift?
‘We eat and drink and play games,’ I say, forcing myself to sound cheerful. ‘Roast goose and Mama’s sauerkraut, sherry and charades. Just the six of us.’ I glance over at Marquis, who has just surrendered his king to Katherine. ‘And you?’
‘Midnight Mass with my mum on Christmas Eve,’ Atlas says. ‘Plum pudding, if we can get the plums. And carolling – me and my mum do it to raise money for the Third Class children’s hospital.’
‘Atlas King, you’re extraordinary.’
Surprise flickers in his eyes and he lets out a low laugh.
‘That’s the first time I’ve heard my name and a word like that used in the same sentence,’ he says with a wry smile.
I lean closer so that our shoulders are touching. He twirls the brass button of his sleeve, his fingers long and calloused.
‘What words have you heard used to describe you?’
Atlas shrugs. ‘Poor. Angry. Misfit.’
My stomach lurches. He concentrates on the button and suddenly the desire to kiss him is hard to resist. But there’s no comfort I can offer him. Not for this, and not for what will happen in three days’ time if I don’t give Wyvernmire what she wants. I look around at the other recruits. They have no idea what’s coming.
The door opens and two Guardians walk in, followed by Ravensloe.
Marquis and Katherine get to their feet and I feel Atlas tense beside me. Ravensloe is carrying a decanter of orange liquid and beaming from ear to ear.
‘Where is he?’ he says impatiently. ‘Ah yes. Marquis Featherswallow.’
Marquis turns a chesspiece over in his hands and glares at the Deputy Prime Minister. I sit up straighter as fear burns in my chest. What does he want with my cousin?
‘I’ve just been informed that Mr Featherswallow’s contribution of knowledge concerning the invention of a mechanical gizzard has allowed us to design and build the most dragonlike plane in Britannia.’ His eyes glitter as he stares round at us. ‘The Aviation Department is hereby closed.’
My eyes meet Marquis’s. His face is a deep red and his fist, now closed tightly round the chesspiece, is turning white.
‘Congratulations, recruit,’ Ravensloe says. ‘You fulfilled your mission.’ He sticks out his hand, and when Marquis doesn’t take it he thrusts the decanter of liquid at him instead. ‘Some apricot wine as a Christmas reward. Prime Minister Wyvernmire will be thrilled.’
The music continues to blare into the otherwise silent room and Ravensloe gives my cousin another nod before striding away. Everyone stares at Marquis.
‘I – I … I didn’t mean to. I explained to Knott how dragon gizzards work weeks ago, just because I thought it was interesting. I didn’t know he would …’ He looks from me to Karim and his eyes fill with tears.
I’m by his side in an instant. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say soothingly. ‘We’ll – we’ll …’
Atlas is staring at me, his brow furrowed.
‘Serena and Karim,’ he says. ‘We need to get you out of here. Tonight.’
The blood drains from Serena’s face. ‘Did you not see what happened to Dodie? I can’t—’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, Serena!’ Marquis roars. ‘The plane is finished – I’ve gone and won the bloody race! And when Wyvernmire finds out she’s not going to let you and Karim just walk out of here.’
He sinks to his knees, dropping the decanter of apricot wine. The stopper falls off and the sweet-smelling liquid seeps into the rug. Panic floods through me. Marquis isn’t wrong. Dodie was killed for trying to escape and Wyvernmire has made a deal with the Bulgarian dragons. She’s capable of more than I ever expected.
‘What will happen to you?’ Gideon says. He looks from Serena to Karim. ‘What did you do to get yourselves here?’
It’s the question everyone avoids.
‘Fraud,’ Karim says. ‘I changed my parents’ tax declarations to make sure we could get by. But for the Third Class fraud is punishable by …’
‘Death,’ Gideon finishes.
Karim begins to cry.
‘You all know my situation,’ Serena says quietly. ‘Trust me, I’d rather die than be forced to marry an old man.’
My head throbs. Surely there’s some way out of Bletchley Park?
Oh.
‘I know someone who might be able to help,’ I say.
They all stare at me and Marquis raises his head. Atlas stands up abruptly, looking at me as if he’s never seen me before.
‘Viv?’ says Marquis.
‘I-I can’t tell you anything more,’ I stammer. ‘You just have to trust me.’
‘Trust you?’ Sophie says. ‘How can we trust you? You took the loquisonus machine for yourself, and I saw you coming back from Wyvernmire’s office the other day. How do we know you’re not going to take Serena and Karim straight to her?’
‘How could you think that, Soph?’ I swallow as the tension in the air grows tighter. ‘What would I gain from hurting them? They’re not even in my category—’
‘But you wouldn’t hesitate to hurt us – is that what you mean?’ Gideon says.
Katherine’s eyes narrow.
‘That’s not what I said.’ I stare round at the hostile expressions and jump as Atlas slips a warm hand into mine.
‘Everyone’s getting paranoid,’ he says. ‘Let’s all just sit down and make a rational plan.’
Karim picks up the empty decanter as we all sit back down. Sophie turns the radio off and I grip the arms of my armchair. I have to tell them. I have to tell them that if I don’t give Wyvernmire at least one of the echolocation dialects then the Bulgarian dragons will enter Britannia.
‘Gingerbread?’ Katherine says, pushing a plate of cinnamon biscuits at us. ‘Ralph had the kitchens make them for me.’
‘Ralph as in the Guardian who broke Viv’s arm?’ Sophie says blankly.
Katherine shoots her a dark look. ‘That was a misunderstanding.’
She hands me a gingerbread in the shape of a star and her eyes almost dare me to refuse. I swallow an angry retort and accept it, then take a bite. She smiles and begins to nibble on her own, also star-shaped.
‘Viv,’ Serena says with a rare tremor in her voice, ‘how many of us can this friend of yours help?’
Friend is a bit of an overstatement , I want to say. But Chumana could carry several people. What if we try to get Sophie, Gideon, Katherine and Atlas out, too? Then I could give Wyvernmire the code, stop the Bulgarians and everyone would be—
Katherine lets out a strangled cry. I jump up as she falls forward on to the rug, her hands round her throat. White foam froths from her mouth.
‘Kath!’ Sophie screams.
I drop down beside her, pulling her hands away as Atlas thumps her on the back. She lets out another gurgling sound, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. Then she goes limp. Marquis lifts her, holding her upright as Atlas continue to hit between her shoulder blades.
Serena sinks to the floor, her hands covering her face.
‘She’s not choking,’ she sobs. ‘She’s been poisoned.’